King and Lionheart
by The Purple Pineapple
Summary: S4 one-shot. Olitz. Can love make them brave again?


She hates the way he looks at her. Before, before, back when she was Olivia Pope, when she used to stand tall, and not flinch when someone opened a door, back when she could dance in her living room, and laugh without listening to steps in the background, before, in another life with dreams of Vermont and the sun and a future and maybe even a life, before, his eyes could set her alight. Before. Now, the way he looks at her, she feels every bit as broken as she is; she feels bare, like her cracks are showing and he can see all the pieces that no longer fit. Now, his eyes make her shiver, they wake her shrivel, disappear further into herself.

"How are you?"

She snickers. She can't lie to him, and he knows it; he knows that lying to him takes too much energy, energy she no longer has. She is too tired, too spent, to twist the truth, to make it better. She is gone, the old Olivia, the one that could seamlessly lie.

"Liv, I just…"

"What?"

A loud noise, must be a door, or a dropped file, or any of the other million things that make noise, that break up silence, that bring space to life; but no, that is no longer the way her mind works – sound is no longer innocent. She flinches. He notices.

"Livvie…"

She hates him. She hates him for the way he wants her to unravel, for the way he wants to help, he wants to heal, he wants to mend the broken pieces. She hates him for believing, that he can, that there are pieces left to mend.

"What?" She says it loudly, spits it out, she would rather sound angry than afraid.

"I want to help." And that does it. Something inside her snaps, something falls away, a piece that was holding her together, a bit that was keeping her façade.

"You can't help!" Her voice trembles. Her weakness fills her with anger. "You can't help. Don't you understand? Don't you get it? You can't help. No one can help. They took me. They took me from my apartment. They came in and took me. They took me away and held me in darkness. They took me and held me. And I fought, in the beginning, I did. To keep me, to keep what makes me me. I tried, to stay Olivia, I tried, despite the cell that I could barely walk in, and the dirt and no sense of time, and the food that tasted like ash; I tried to stay a gladiator, despite the fear, despite them trying to rip my humanity away, strip it from day to day; I tried. I tried, because I thought there was a point, I thought there was a point in surviving, there was a point in staying me, I would stay me, and I would survive and I would come back and everything would be normal. I would survive and I would come back and the world would still be the same.

"And then you started a war, you used your power, the power I sold my soul for, the power we _all _sold our souls for, the power for which we gave up Vermont, and a life we could have had, the kids and a dog and jam; you took that power and you used it to kill innocent men; to send them to their death. You used that power and the world changed. You changed the world for me, you changed it, and I lost me, I lost the world I knew, the world I was going to go back to. You tried to save my life, but I lost who I am, I lost me. And I know, I get it, I should be grateful, but I'm not, I… wish you hadn't, because now – I flinch every time there's a noise, and I lock my door three times, I sleep with lights on, because I'm afraid that the darkness hides shadows and I no longer have a couch. I have been going to the furniture stores for three weeks now, every day, after work, I go to a furniture store and stare at couches and I can't pick, because white – white shows stains, and white reminds me of spilled wine and blood, and white is no longer white hat, now it's fear and loss and… I wish you hadn't."

Silence.

Silence that hurts more than noise.

Silence that stabs her in the gut.

Silence that breaks his heart.

Silence.

She is no longer trembling. She feels empty. He looks defeated. He looks the way she feels. She can't stay there anymore. The office, the grandness of it, the eagle on the carpet – its head turned away from the olive branch; the weight of the power resting on her frail shoulders.

"I have to go." She grabs her bag from the couch. She heads to the door. She expects him to call after her, to stop her, to ask her – to wait, to stay. He doesn't. It hurts in a place she cannot name, a place she used to have, a place that used to be a home for him; for their dreams. She leaves.

Elevator ding. Her entire body stiffens. Footsteps. She is alert. They are coming. She lowers her wine glass onto the table. She waits. A knock. She inhales. She could pretend she isn't home. Another knock. She gets up. She owes him this much. She doesn't know why, no, that part of her is gone, the part that could tell her about love and softness and warmth, but somewhere, deep inside, she knows she owes him this much. She opens the door.

"Hi."

He doesn't say hi. His face is hard. She steps aside. He steps inside.

Silence.

She wants to apologize. She doesn't know how. She never learned. She never had to.

"Fitz." She stops. It's the next part that's hard. The next part that she's never done. "Fitz, I'm sorry." And somehow, despite all odds, it rolls off her tongue, easily, as easily as the first time she whispered his name. "I-"

"No." His voice is cold. It makes her shiver. "No. You don't get to tell me I am to blame that you are gone, you don't get to make me feel guilty for trying to save your life and then apologize for it, no. God-damn-it-Olivia, no!" And she can feel fire, a slow simmer, starting deep in her belly, as his eyes settle on hers; she feels fire. Old fire, a flame that tickles.

"You are the love of my life. You have been the love of my life since before I knew you, since before I knew love. You were the one. I told you over and over again, I fought, I tried, and you pushed me away, and I stayed, because god – with the family you had, you get points for being human at all, and for letting me in, so I waited and I let you push me away and I fought my way back. I loved you, I loved you enough to wait through Jake, and the Sun and whatever you needed, I loved you enough. I loved you enough to move mountains and build houses and dream a life. I loved you enough. And you let me. You let me love you, and damn-it loved me back. And now, now you're holding it against me. I went to war to get you back, I sent men to their death, and I would do it again. Because my world, my normal – it's not worth living, it's not worth anything without you in it. Gerry is dead. My son, he is gone. He is gone Olivia. And there was nothing I could do about that. There was nothing I could do to save him, nothing I could do to bring him back. And for you, the only thing keeping me alive, keeping me sane, keeping me _me_, I was going to do everything in my power to bring you back, to keep you alive, to save you. What is all this power worth, all this power you made me give our dreams up for, our life, the power that took away my son, what is the point – if I can't save the love of my life? What is the point of it all, if I lose you? What's the point Olivia?" His voice echoes. The weight of it settles in her bones.

"Loved?" Her lip quivers as she says it. Fear. Fear that maybe, after all these years, she's finally managed, managed to push him away.

"What?" He looks at her like she's crazy, his eyes are no longer kind. _Fire. _

"Loved, you said you loved me. Past tense." She is looking at her finger, the place where her ring used to be. _His _ring.

He stares at her. Silence. She can feel a lifetime pass. She can see her future, away from him. No more phonecalls, no more arguments, no more stolen moments, and kisses that last for eternity. She can see her life, unfolding; the life she said she wanted – simple and tidy; and she feels fear – a different kind of fear, a fear that isn't in her bones, no, a fear that boils, that doesn't settle; a fear that makes her want to explode and not shrivel. Stars collapse in her lungs.

He smiles.

"You are the most impossibly maddening person alive."

"Fitz-"

"Don't. I'm not ready to hear it."

She looks away.

Silence. It is too heavy. Too thick. They can't handle it; not anymore. He heads towards the door.

"Will you go couch shopping with me?"

She whispers it, but he stops in his tracks. She holds her breath, afraid of upsetting the silence; rejection, rejection would be worse than tension. Rejection would be impossible. She knows now, she understands; her world was his love; her constant, her normal – it was his love; that, that is the thing she cannot lose; the thing that would ruin her forever.

Footsteps. The door opens. Her heart beating against her ribcage.

"Al, let the rest of the detail know that we're going couch shopping."

He closes the door.

She exhales. A galaxy is born in her chest. "Thank you."

"I can't be the only one fighting for us anymore Livvie." And a part of her she thought was gone comes alive; the softness, the fire. "I can't save you, I never could; it has to be you, you have to want to come back, to survive, to go on. I can only help, I can be there, but you have to show up, you have to fight."

"I know." And the thing is – she does, she does know, she understands – he too, is tired, he too, is broken, he too, is no longer himself. He, too, needs to be saved; given a dream to survive for, a dream to live for. A dream, of what a life together could be – domesticated, arguing over color schemes and designs, cushions and Feng Shui. A life, less scary, less silent; a life – with the person he loves.


End file.
